


Divine Intervention

by MnemonicMadness



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Guardian Angels, Fluff, God!Machine, Guardian Angel!Harold, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mutual Pining, Very Mild Violence, it's just fluff otherwise, very brief mention of suicide attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-10
Updated: 2017-11-10
Packaged: 2019-01-31 10:03:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12679632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MnemonicMadness/pseuds/MnemonicMadness
Summary: Based onthis Tumblr prompt:Wait, Harold - John’s guardian angel - getting in trouble with his Boss Upstairs/The Machine because he accidentally let John see his face during a rescue attempt. Now, John is in love and putting himself in increasingly dangerous situations to draw Finch out again, much to the exasperation of all angelic parties.





	Divine Intervention

**Author's Note:**

> My sleep schedule is non-existent, so this may have a lot of mistakes due to sleep deprivation and me being too lazy to edit it. I hope you'll enjoy it anyway!

“I know it was a mistake to allow him to see me, but I just couldn’t...” He is saved by the distant sound of the shrill ring akin to the one of a payphone in the back of his mind, inaudible to anyone but him - and Her, of course. He isn’t quite sure if the hint of queasy faintness he feels is the result of his embarrassment or his relief at escaping an admittedly well deserved scolding. As if reading his mind, She smiles at him, exasperated but fond, and nods Her permission.

Now it is definitely relief, but it lasts only for a moment. Precisely the moment it takes him until he has closed his eyes to focus on the ringing, until he hears the faint click that precedes the number an echo of Her voice dictates to him. A number that is irritatingly, predictably familiar. It is only with great determination that he keeps the sigh of resignation from forcing itself past his lips. _Now of all times..._

When he opens his eyes again, She - or rather the form She has chosen to appear to him - is shaking Her head in exasperation and Her eyes are shining with an unfair amount of amusement at his predicament. In response he spares a second for a long-suffering sigh, but he has no choice but to admit to himself that he isn’t regretting getting himself into said predicament quite as much as he probably should. Judging by the too fond to be reprimanding look She is giving him, She is well aware of that fact.

“Go.” is all She says, laughter resonating in Her multitude of voices. His face heats with further embarrassment as he can’t quite help the trickle of reluctant excitement running through him as he thanks Her. Now She does laugh, a sound as rare and delightful as it is eery, and quickly adds “Your vest is wrinkled.” before fading from his vision.

Even as he feels the heat colouring his cheeks intensify, he does smooth the fabric down with his palm, his other hand reaching up to double-check the pristine knot of his tie. Once he has made sure that he’s presentable, he unfolds his wings - rounded and comparatively small, but always reliable and with bright feathers to match his suits, the wings of a finch. With just a few beats, the not-quite-world fades around him and in its stead, reality solidifies.

Said reality happens to be a robbery of the NYPD’s evidence lock-up about to go very wrong. In the increasing chaos and with several men wearing masks, Harold almost panics when he can’t seem to find his repeat-charge but finally, after seconds that feel like an eternity, that low, rough voice murmurs “Hey Harold.” and he can _hear_ the smile that accompanies the greeting.

The biggest trouble of the predicament he managed to manoeuvre himself into some weeks ago is that once the mistake it made, it is irreversible, which is the primary reason that being seen by a human is always to be prevented. Once a human has seen an angel, they will always be able to see that angel. Ordinarily, that wouldn’t be much of an issue, but there always has to be an exception to the rule. If he had the time, Harold would wonder what he has done to deserve this - even if he minds a lot less than he ought to.

As is, he flinches when he hears the first shots being fired and the room erupts into turmoil and noise, dozens of people screaming in terror or yelling contradictory orders at one another. He only just turns around in time to redirect a bullet about to enter John Reese’s neck. For a fraction on a second, he notes his utter lack of surprise to find that John is wearing one of the robbers’ masks. After all, how else could he have gotten himself in enough trouble to require Harold’s protection. Again.

John’s bright, unapologetic grin informs him that he hasn’t quite managed to keep the profoundly unimpressed look off his face and he almost (definitely) regrets that there isn’t enough time to fully appreciate the way the skin crinkles with laugh lines around John’s deep blue eyes, the way they radiate adoration and perfect trust. Instead, he forces himself to focus on the task at hand, on keeping John safe. His calculating gaze sweeps around he room, taking in the angles at which the bullets are flying and the intervals at which they’re being shot and plans the safest way possible towards escape, already curling his arm around John’s waist to better steer him.

Naturally, his charge doesn’t make it easy, often veering off course to protect someone else. Harold almost panics again as he’s too late to reach one of the bullets and it grazes John’s leg, leaving an alarmingly bright spray of red against dull grey concrete and making John stumble in surprise.

Harold’s wings unfold on instinct, wrapping around the ex-agent, barricading him against the halestorm of projectiles that would tear him apart but are barely more than a nuisance for Harold. And if John leans into the protective embrace, he supposes that’s an absolutely understandable reaction. And if Harold wraps his wings tighter around him in response, it’s more of a matter of efficiency than anything else. It certainly has nothing to do with the way the human’s warmth sinks through his feathers, nothing to do at all with Harold perhaps enjoying how solid he feels, safe and mostly unharmed.

After simultaneously too long and too short seconds, they step out into the cold air of New York’s night - keeping one wing around John to ward off the cold is a perfectly reasonable course of action, he tells himself, after all it wouldn’t do to save him from harm only to let him get sick.

In the chaos and general agitation, no one notices John slipping into a back alley, just as no one notices him sliding an arm around the waist of a man none but him can see. Harold thinks it must make quite the odd picture to any hypothetical onlookers, but they are alone and he doesn’t have the heart (self-discipline) to shrug the touch off.

He knows he should leave, his job is done and his charge safe - for now at least, until he puts himself in mortal peril once again within probably no more than a few days, just to see Harold again - but as always, he finds himself lingering, listening to John explaining what exactly has led him to his latest display of extreme recklessness. A veteran with a promise to a fallen friend, an honourable man making bad choices, and so John saved him.

While he listens to him, he can’t help but bask in the light in John’s expressive eyes. All those weeks ago, when Harold had accidentally revealed himself to a John Reese stuck deep inside a bottle and staring into a barrel, those eyes had been devoid of anything but guilt and self-loathing. Now they are bright with determination and purpose, and ever so often flickering to Harold, filling with gratitude, adoration, devotion. And as always, with longing and regret when Harold tells him he needs to leave, even if he secretly wishes for nothing more than to stay, to erase all lingering traces of malnourishment and lighten the burden of his guilt.

“I do wish you’d be more careful.” he tells him with a sigh, knowing that, like always, John won’t listen.

“I’ll try.” as always, John’s reply has an almost-note of sincerity and is immediately followed by the bright, mischievous, faux-innocent grin Harold can’t help but find beautiful. “No promises though, I know you’ll be there to have my back.”

He sighs again, all too aware that he sounds much more fond than he intended to. “Always, Mr. Reese.” There is no need to add that this _is_ a promise. As he beats his wings and reality begins to fade again, the last thing he sees is one of John’s small, genuine smiles.

When his surroundings come into focus again, Nathan is standing just a few paces away from him. For a second, he stares at Harold, then starts to shake his head in disbelief, even as his wings quiver with laughter. Harold stares back with one eyebrow raised until his friend calms down to the occasional chuckle.

“You had to save your CIA agent again, didn’t you?”

Harold has half a mind to deny it, but Nathan doesn’t even allow him the chance to speak.

“C’mon. Don’t even try to tell me otherwise. There’s no one else who puts that besotted look on your face.”

He feels his face heat rapitly as he sputters “Don’t be absurd, I don’t look...”

From the corner of his vision, he sees Sameen fading into existence, luckily distracting both him and Nathan for a moment, but before he can feel relief at the respite - and really, he should’ve expected nothing else - Sameen smirks at him. “You went to see Reese again, didn’t you.”

“Sameen, if you are trying to tell me that I look besotted, I strongly suggest you...”

Behind him, Nathan heaves an exasperated sigh at the same moment as Sameen throws him a sceptical look. “Lucky for you, Nathan and I figured that situation of yours needs an intervention, so we asked Her if She could give you a permanent posting. Maybe having you around’ll stop him from doing stupid shit. And if not, at least I won’t have to watch you pine anymore.”

He is torn between feeling touched at his friends’ gesture and protesting that he is most certainly not pining, when Her voice brings his thoughts to a halt.

“John Reese is relevant.” She says, smiling kindly, though undeniably Her earlier amusement hasn’t faded. As the meaning of Her words sink in, he is stunned into silence.

* * *

 

For all the times that he has seen John and all the times he has saved his life, this is the first time that he sees where John lives. As he settles into reality, he finds himself surrounded by books and soft, warm lights. The furniture is old and used, many of the shelves chipped, some broken and when he turns to look down the hallway of what appears to be an abandoned library, he sees that some of them have tipped over, spilling broken books everywhere.

He must have made a noise of displeasure at the sight, since a sudden movement at his other side draws his attention. John, seated in an old office chair, whirls around to face him, gun in his deadly steady hand, a startled expression on his face that melts into surprised delight and affection as soon as he recognises Harold.

“I swear, whatever is about to kill me now, I’ve got nothing to do with it.”

Harold is unable to suppress his amused huff. “You’re quite safe. But since you obviously are incapable of staying safe for an extended amount of time, it has been decided that my assignment to you is from now on to be of a more permanent nature.”

It’s one of the most beautiful things he has ever had the privilege to witness; seeing the realisation sink in and John’s expression shift from delight to true happiness, even as his charge still looks at him as if he needs to reassure himself that Harold is truly here.

“You’ll stay?”

“Always, John.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!!! I hope I didn't mess up too badly? Please leave a comment, comments are balm for my writer soul!!!


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